Molly's Struggle
by anonymouslyknown111
Summary: First time having a pop at writing. Rated M just in case. Different take on Molly and Sherlock's life post TRF. Nice bit of 'Sherlolly' . Just a bit of fun and fluff. Do enjoy/comment if you fancy. Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything.
1. Chapter 1

The cold water hit Molly's face and a gasp left her lips. She stood for a moment, eyes tight shut and fingers grasping the edges of the white sink. She could feel the drips of water leave her face one by one, falling off her eyelashes, dancing down her nape, leaving her chin. As her eyes fluttered open, she caught her own eyes staring at her from under her brows in the vanity mirror above the basin. Her face looked different. her brows furrowed, searching for the missing element of her simple face, it was the same same shape, the same milky, pale colour. Her nose still pointed towards her thin yet small lips. It was her eyes. Her eyes had lost their spark. She shook off the moment and grabbed the hand towel to rub her face. Something she did a little too vigorously, as her face burned red when removed.

The warm sound of the bath filling was making Molly tired. Sure, she had finished her third shift in this week, and god, was she thankful of the few days respite that were to follow. As she slipped off her trousers and pulled off her blouse, she cast the day off her to remain with her pile of clothes. It had not been a difficult day, after a morning of filing before the arrival of fresh cadavers just after lunch, the arrival was welcomed. There was nothing worse than filing.

As she lazily threw her smalls onto the pile of clothes, she climbed into the tub and turned off the heated taps. The water was hot. It was probably too hot as Molly became aware of her reddening skin been the the water. The aroma's of the bubble bath filled her senses she gave into the hot liquid as she sank her body and her head lower. The water surrounded her face and her eyes were failing to remain open.

He slipped into the room silently and noticed her eyes shutting. He watched her chest rise and fall slowly for a few moments, the corner of his lips uncontrollably curling upwards. He shut the door behind him and began to remove his shirt. Swiftly, his own garments joined Molly's pile on the floor. It was a struggle to fit his lean and long body in the bath besides her reclining body. As he lowered himself in, Molly's eyes catapulted open in surprise. Their eyes meeting instantly locked onto one another, saying words their lips would not.  
Her skin pimpled under the touch of his slender fingers. Whether it was a stunned silence or a simple refusal to believe what was happening, Molly was silent as he pulled her onto his lap. His face was unbearably close to her own now, and she could smell his beautiful smell above the strong fumes of the bath. His hands worked their way from her hips up her back, carefully feeling every inch of her skin beneath his exploring hands.

He leaned in and grazed his Cupid's lips along her jaw, finding their way gently to her lips where they were greeted hungrily by Molly. Her mind went blank as she deepened their kiss and her hands got loving lost in his thick black curls. Never breaking, his lips found their way to her neck, and Molly reciprocated his touch by involuntarily reclining her head. Pulling her closer against his naked body, her mouth gasped open and his name escaped from her lips.  
"Sherlock..."

A loud knock at the bathroom door made Molly awaken with a start, banging her foot on the tap as she went. "Molly, I don't know how long you're planning to be in there, but I suggest it be not much longer. Do try to remember that your only bathroom is now being shared by two." His deep baritone muffled against the wooden door.  
Molly looked around feeling a little dazed for a moment, remembering where she was and deciphering why her body now had the texture of an eighty year old. She was in the now tepid bath, and Sherlock was at the other side of the locked door. Not next to her in the water. Disappointment filled her tingling body as she shakily stood up and stepped out, reaching for a towel.

"Yes, Sherlock" she croaked, annoyed at the high pitch of her reply, she coughed and continued, "I'll be out shortly."  
Se heard him turn and leave. Wrapping the towel round her moist body, she flung out the plug and listened to her dark thoughts circling away with the bubbles. Grabbing her clothes, she was not paying attention when she opened the door and strode head first into Sherlock, stood with his hands behind his back and a surprised look in his face.  
"Oh! Gosh, sorry Sherlock I didn't um.. See you there." She mumbled, feeling her cheeks blush beneath his gaze. Without a sound, he strode into the bathroom and promptly shut the door behind him. Molly stood for a moment, and heard the familiar sound of the shower turning on and the shower door swinging open.

Molly returned to her bedroom and sat on the bed, throwing her clothes into the corner, near, but not quite into her laundry basket. She thought about the past week, and threw herself backwards onto her bed.  
The day Sherlock came to her for help, she had little realised what events were to follow. His face burned into hers, a pleading look in his eyes that Molly has never in the years of knowing him, of loving him, she had ever, seen before. _What do you need?_ She asked him, believing his tormented face was another ruse to manipulate her into working later and 'assisting him', or pulling out a body for one of his eccentric experiments or.. The countless other requests she had failed to say no to. _You_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Six months earlier.. **

A week later, after the miracle the two of them pulled off, Sherlock's 'favour' continued as he began cohabiting with Molly. He was little trouble.. He kept himself to himself. The discourse between them limiting to asking for a coffee, or the odd valediction of Molly's departure for work. The initial prospect of the idea of living will Sherlock excited Molly. She naively believed it would be the start of something. Something she had hungered for since she first met him. The picture of them sharing meals or watching TV merged with cuddling on the sofa, spooning late into the evening or even raging sex in the kitchen clouded her mind until the third month in.  
She returned from work with a few bags of shopping, her optimism of him accepting any food never faltered. Throwing her keys onto the end table and edging down the narrow hallway to her pokey kitchen, she called his name happily. Dumping the shopping bags on the counter, she took off her jacket and walked into the adjoining room to find Sherlock still in his robe lying face up at the ceiling, eyes closed and hands joined under his chin.  
"Sherlock? Uhm, are you ok?" She cheerily asked. Watching him barely move and fail to answer her, she turned and continued; "I brought pasta, thought you could try and eat something tonight?"  
Again, nothing but a deep sigh left his nose. Molly felt increasingly impatient. She bit her lip and returned to the kitchen. Unpacking the items, she opened a bottle of Merlot and decided the pasta can wait. It was only early evening anyway.  
He moved his legs to accommodate Molly to sit next to him, the sofa being the only means of seating in the small living room. She threw herself down and took a large gulp. The bitter wine sliding down her throat joyfully. She turned to face him, her stare must have registered in his mind as he shortly retorted at her; "Molly I can feel your eyes burning into me it is rather distracting." He opened his eyes and sat up, just in time to see Molly's cheeks flush a similar colour to that of the wine in her hand. He succeeded in repressing a grin at this reaction. Molly, mumbling an apology started to stand up and return to the kitchen. She felt angry. Believing, however childish it may seem, that Molly could form something of a relationship, be it plutonic or otherwise, with Sherlock, after all she had done for him was building up a storm inside her. A storm which at another comment, may just lapse into a full throw.

"Molly, I do hope you're returning to the kitchen to feed the cat, he is getting increasingly more tedious and becoming an attractive target for my gun." Hearing his words echo to her ears blew the short fuse that held back her pent up anger. Taking a deep breathe and downing the rest of her wine, Molly prepared herself to blow. Storming into the living room, a poisonous glare in her eyes, she let herself explode.  
"Don't you dare even think about touching Toby. Don't you dare- don't even bother.. Forget it." Annoyed at her failed attempt to lash out at Sherlock riled her up even more. The confusion of her small, unsuccessful outburst was apparent in his questioning eyes. "Molly have I said something to offend you in some way?" He began. Pirouetting on the spot, Molly turned to face him; "have you said something to offend me? Oh no Sherlock, everything you say offends me. The things you do say are just as bad as the things you don't say! Not once have I heard a single thank-you for what I'm doing for you. I keep your secret unfalteringly, even when I stand at your grave with John's hand in mine as he weeps silently at the headstone." His face winced at the mention of John's name, and Molly knew exactly what chord she had struck, and my, did she continue to play. "Yes, Sherlock, make a face at his name. He is heartbroken at this. He lost his best friend Sherlock. He lost you. And I feel like I'm losing you now." Her voice began to soften, instantly regretting opening the wound of John and viciously rubbing in the salt. She turned away from his saddened eyes. Yet continued to get this anger off her chest. "Sherlock, I know we weren't the closest friends before The Fall, but I'd like to think I knew you. You slope around the flat barely eating, barely changing out of your bloody robe and playing that violin. You barely talk to me Sherlock. It's hurting me now, you ignore me and it hurts me. I care about you and your lack of care for yourself is painful to watch." Her voice was cracking now, but taking a deep breath and composing herself she struggled on. "Help me help yourself, Sherlock. I care. I know I don't count for much for you-" she was cut off when she felt him behind her.  
Their breath became loud in the silence of the kitchen. "Molly.. I'm sorry." His deep baritone ricocheted off the hairs on the back of Molly's neck. She closed her eyes to the warm wind of his breath. Before she realised, he left her standing there looking somewhat helpless and defeated into his room. Throwing her hands to her face, Molly began preparing dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months later, nothing much had changed between the pair. He took better care in himself, allowing himself to begin wearing his tailored suits and tight shirts again. He ate nearly daily, sometimes with Molly, if he wasn't out. She quickly gave up asking where he'd go at all hours, returning after hours. Molly's daily routine sank back to 'pre-Sherlock', as she called it. But something changed in her. Something that people began picking up on.  
The paleness of her skin became more apparent, especially when paired with her white lab coat. The dark circles beneath her eyes suggested late nights in front of a screen and stimulated by too much caffeine. She was picking up more shifts at the hospital, night shifts in order to avoid other people milling around. Sherlock began to notice these subtle changes to her manner, deducing wildly about what on earth was bothering Molly Hooper. She would hide behind false smiles and high pitched replies when asked if something was bothering her. Though he never much got the chance to ask her, she was doing a sterling job avoiding him lately. He heard her at night, she no longer watched TV before falling asleep, she never chirped a "Hello!" when she came in from work. They sat eating in silence, her eyes never leaving her plate, she seemed to rush her food and never finished more than half of her plateful. Staring out the window at the rain trickling down the glass, Sherlock saw his coat and blue scarf hanging from the coat hook in the reflection of the glass. I was past midnight and the rain hit hard down on London, but Sherlock was out of the door and hailing a cab.  
Sterilising the table, Molly's face glazed over, emotionless as the sound of the late night radio chat show echoed through the room. She turned it louder to omit her heartbroken thoughts circling her head. Why on earth have you got yourself into this Molly Hooper. Her internal monologue was beginning to annoy her, but nothing drowned the voice out. He will never notice you Molly. He looks past you, he looks through you. You're plain. You're simple. You're a pathologist, you are not great minded you are ordinary. From the sound of the radio and the feeling of tears falling off her face, Molly did not notice the door open quietly. "It seems your internal monologue as you called it is failing you Miss Hooper." She turned and shrieked at the sound of the familiar, deep voice from the doorway.  
As Sherlock slipped off his gloves, scarf and coat, he walked over to the radio to turn it down. "Ghastly excuse for music. Really Molly, I thought it wasn't your type of thing." He leaned against the desk and looked at her, folding his arms across his chest. Molly failed to realise she had yet to say anything, and failed to realise the tears had stained her face in their destructive path across her now scarlet cheeks. "Sherlock, what are you doing here? I thought I locked.." Her voice trailed off as he took her by the hand. He began, "Molly, come into the office. I believe we need to sort something out." His gentle touch on her hand sprung new tears to well in the crevasses of her eyes. As she collapsed on the worn sofa, she realised how exhausted she was. As he changed the radio station, he followed her into the office and sat adjacent to her, looking at her eyes intently.  
"Tell me what's wrong Molly." He said, rather bluntly. Before she could begin, he continued on; "Don't start with the woman's answer to everything. 'I'm fine' does not equate to an answer. You've lost 8 pounds over the past six months. Your body language has changed, you hunch over things. You don't say hello when you come home." He was stood now, pacing and talking quickly. Molly just looked at him, faceless. "You're unhappy Molly. Unhappy does not suit you." They stared at each other, she was thankful of the music in the background. This would've been a far too awkward silence to bare.  
Crouching in front of her, Molly felt something stir in her. "Molly Hooper.. Look at me." His fingers lifted her chin so they were eye to eye. It had been a while since he made her blush. "Of course you count.. Above anyone, I trusted you to keep my biggest secret. I chose you for a reason, thought it may not have been apparent to me at the time." His fingers moved from her chin to her cheek, wiping away her new falling tears. His other hand moved to hold her hands on her lap. His large palm easily holding both her petite hands in his. "I was told once that I didn't have a heart.. For a long time I believed it. But seeing you like this, without the beautiful spark you had that lit you up, it's like a poison Molly, poison that's rotting me away." His eyes never left her face. Looking at Sherlock's hands enveloping her own, she could feel her old self, Molly Hooper creeping up from under the rock that she had hidden under these past few months.  
Looking up into his ocean blue eyes, it was apparent it was Molly's turn to speak. He look expectantly at her. She exhaled and began in the most simple way possible. Why fabricate now? "I thought when you moved in with me, something would start between us. I've liked you.. Sherlock, I've been in love with you for a long time now. And I don't know if I was disappointment that nothing happened, if it was seeing you torture yourself in silence, or if it was the realisation, that seeing you every morning and realising how little I really meant to you-" she cut herself off to stop herself from sobbing. There was pain in Sherlock's eyes and he pulled her into his arms. Staining his purple shirted shoulder with yet more tears, they embraced until she calmed down. Holding each other, Sherlock broke away and stood infront of her. Looking at her tired eyes, he held out his hand. Pulling her up and inter his arms, they began a slow dance to the radio, which seems to have calmed off from the heavy bass it was previously playing.

A smile crept onto Molly Hoopers face for the first time in months. A they slowly danced in the dim light of the office, Molly was aware of Sherlock's hand on her waist, as was he aware of Molly's hand on the back of his neck. Allowing herself too look at him, they stopped swaying. Molly seemed to have ceased breathing as his stooped low and kissed her tenderly. Frozen momentarily, Molly got over this initial shock and moved her lips against his. After a few moments, the unlikely couple found themselves entwined together, Molly's hands around Sherlock's neck, playing with his beautiful curls, and Sherlock's hands gripping her hips pulling her flush against him. As their kiss became breathless and urgent, they broke apart to look at one another.

"Molly, you look beautiful" he whispered, believing that her returning smile and deep red cheeks was possibly the most comforting yet stunning thing he'd ever seen. Her smile placed a peck on his lips and she began turning off the lights in the room. Packing her things away, they left the morgue hand in hand onto the street above.

Daring herself not to ruin the moment and ask what on earth just happened, she rested her head on his shoulder on the cab ride home. It was near four o'clock in the morning and the rain gave way to a lightening sky. When they got back to Molly's flat, she decided to be coy and play it cool. Hanging up their jackets, he followed her into the kitchen where she began making coffee. Reaching in the cupboard for some mugs and the jar of coffee, Sherlock stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling into her neck before placing tender kisses along her jawline. Closing her eyes and suddenly forgetting completely about her plan of playing cool. Turning her head to meet his lips, her hand wound its way back to his head, gently tugging on the curls.

Their kiss was different to that in the morgue. This was playful and deep, full of promises. His tongue gently asked permission against her mouth of which Molly gave full consent. Spinning her round and lifting her with ease onto the kitchen counter, Sherlock's hands made their way expertly up her back beneath her blouse, her skin soft yet sensitive to his touch. Reciprocating her desire, she wrapped her legs around his waist, something which he positively reacted to. He broke their passionate kiss and looked deep into her eyes. Words exchanged between their Iris's, saying sweet nothing's that need not be voiced. With her legs still wrapped fiercely against him, he lifted and carried her, being mindful not to trip over Toby on his way to her bedroom. Collapsing on the bed and continuing their loving kiss, Sherlock stroked her cheek, her beautiful smile melting his hidden heart. "Molly Hooper, I love you". Her smile widened and she kissed him fiercely, wondering how on earth this was happening, yet not caring about the details. "Sherlock Holmes, I believe you do have a heart." They smiled together, and continued their embracing kisses. Feeling the heat between one another due to their roaming hands, the hunger in Sherlock's eyes was undeniable. Smiling seductively, he pinned Molly beneath him, looking at her biting her bottom lip, presumably on purpose. "Now Miss Hooper, how can I begin to thank-you for all you've done..."


End file.
